


they’re throwing flowers in the river (prayers are being said)

by isloremipsumafterall



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 23:02:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10055861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isloremipsumafterall/pseuds/isloremipsumafterall
Summary: “Tell me a story,” Marguerite says instead and Milady huffs like she’s annoyed to be disturbed but catches Marguerites fingers as she turns to press a kiss against them.When she talks it’s about a girl who was so in love with blue flowers that grew as far as the eye could see in a field where nothing went wrong.





	

Her fingers run across Milady’s scars with a softness she does not feel she deserves but inches closer to regardless.

Marguerite says nothing, she won’t ask or press and Milady won’t tell for her secrets are much more for a person to take and she’s learned that more than a few times the hard way.

“Tell me a story,” Marguerite says instead and Milady huffs like she’s annoyed to be disturbed but catches Marguerites fingers as she turns to press a kiss against them.

When she talks it’s about a girl who was so in love with blue flowers that grew as far as the eye could see in a field where nothing went wrong.

The next morning there are forget me nots where Marguerite lay and Milady twirls the flowers in her hands and tries to remember the last time anyone left them for her.

~~

“Tell me a story,” She asks the next night, to Marguerite this time and the woman next to her draws a quick breath.

Her tale is one Milady knows well, of being forced into a position by an unkind man and made to pay the price.

“And what happened to the woman?” Milady asks, trailing her lips down Marguerite’s neck and down to her shoulder and marvels in the lack of scars across the expanse of skin.

“She was saved by the unexpected.” Marguerite says, her fingers combing through Milady’s curls and it’s hard to believe there was a point where Marguerite wouldn’t dare to do so.

“And what did she do with unexpected saviour?” Milady’s lips curl into a smile, her hand gently traces Marguerite’s every curve where she can touch.

“She fell in love.” Marguerite laughs quietly, something both amused and surprised.

“Oh darling, you shouldn’t have.” Milady tsks but raises her head anyway to press a kiss to Marguerite’s lips.

“Don’t forget me.” Marguerite begs into their kiss, barely heard and Milady pretends that she doesn’t and kisses her harder as the night continues to fall on them.

~~

“Tell me a story.” Marguerite asks and Milady lazily looks over her with a sigh.

“Not all Anne’s are royalty.” She says quietly.

“But they deserve to be worshipped all the same.” Marguerite replies, with understanding her eyes and it’s too much so Milady turns away.

A crown of flowers lays on her head the next morning, a childish foolish tactic but even as she goes to rip it off her hands falter in their movements and then fall at her side.

Instead she lets it fall from her head when she bows it and pressed the petals into Marguerites skin when she pushes her against the bed that night.

They look prettier on her, Milady thinks idly before she closes her eyes.

~~

Eventually there are no more stories to tell between them, the silence grows but it isn’t the numbing kind that settles on her shoulders and makes her gasp just for a noise to fill the air.

Marguerite’s fingers entwine with her own, smooth and uncalloused, and she kisses Milady like she’s a poison and Marguerite’s trying to find death’s embrace.

There’s a large part of her that knows she should leave, walk away from all this as she has a thousand times before but Marguerite lays on top of her comfortably and it’s hard to pull away from something like that.

“I love you.” Marguerite whispers into the night, fearful and desperate and Milady knows the tale of what happened to the person she told that too.

“My dear you shouldn’t.” Milady replies but doesn’t turn away at the gentle kisses pressed to her cheeks.

“My dear I do anyway.” Marguerite tells her and Milady laughs but it feels hollow in her chest.

She dreams of that field of blue flowers that night but there’s a change, Marguerite lays in them, her smile beckoning Milady ever closer.

When she wakes Marguerite is still there, breathing peacefully and Milady’s hand hovers above her hair.

She stirs and notices Milady watching her as like she’s still in her dream she smiles and reaches out to pull Milady down into a kiss.

That she tastes like sweet honeysuckle is all in Milady’s head, a delirious thought based on something that could be affection and sits heavy in her.

She stays; her hands stroking Marguerite’s hips and she breathes in the smell of flowers in her hair. It’s addicting, the possibility of a story that could be told and Milady is nothing if not curious to see where this tale could go.


End file.
